Peter really hated Mondays.
Really, truly hated them.
It wasn’t just the fact that school began again, or work too, or even that it wasn’t a lab day with Mr. Stark. No, it was that something always happened on a Monday. Something bad.
Such as, for instance, getting kidnapped by highly trained officers who had an array of weapons that Peter had never seen the likes of before. Such as, for instance, being drugged with unknown chemicals and waking up hours later with a sore throat and urge to vomit. Such as, for instance, being knocked out again, and now tied in a chair with metal cuffs he couldn’t break, listening to voices argue what to do with him behind a thin two way mirror.
Yep, he really hated Mondays.
Peter groaned, vision swimming.
Harsh lights blinded him, stinging circles into his eyes. When Peter looked away from the lights, he found he was in a room sparsely decorated. It contained a single metal chair that he was strapped to with cuffs he couldn’t break, one lonely table with some wicked looking knives, a bed with a leather strap, a high-tech camera in the corner, and a full ceiling to floor mirror that he could hear voices behind.
“Hmm. Boy has a better metabolism then Cap.”
“I’d like to run some tests.”
Voices filled his head, people bickering over what to do with him. His sixth sense sparked, providing a constant throb to the back of his head.
A door appeared out of the wall, sliding with a great mechanical noise that hurt his ears, sensitive after the whole, ya know, kidnaping thing.
“What is your name?” The scientist asked.
Peter looked up at them, and shuddered involvedentarily at their cold, dark eyes. Just keep calm, Peter, he told himself. Crack jokes and stuff.
“More like what’s your skincare routine? Damn, homie, that’s some pretty nice skin.” He hated himself for the voice cracks. Calm. Cool. It was by far not his first kidnapping, although he would never admit that to May, and Mr. Stark would be here soon.
The scientist did not look happy at this answer. His eye twitched, and he grabbed a knife from the table. Peter’s sixth sense went wild, screaming.
Before he could get out another word, however, The scientist stuffed a ball gag in his mouth. He took the wicked looking blade, and made a nice 3 inch gash on his forehead.
Peter screamed behind the gag, feeling the warm liquid run down his face. The scientist ripped the gag out of his mouth and asked again ”What is your name?”
Peter, still reeling from shock, must have taken too long to respond. The Scientist slashed his face again, this time on his cheek. “What is your name?” He prompted again.
With no desire to get cut again, Peter choked out a response. “Peter…”
This only earned another cut. “Name.”
Confused, he said it again. “Peter.”
A third cut found their way into his skin. “No. You are Spider.” Despite Peter’s confusion, he did not argue. “Spider. This is your name.”
Spider? Really? How...creative. The Scientist, as if he could read his thoughts, slashed his arm this time. “What is your name?”
“Pe- Spider, spider.” At this, the Scientist lowered the now blood stained knife and left the room without another word.
He stayed like that for hours, just sitting in the chair. According to his mental clock, it had been almost a day when someone showed up again.
The person who came in was different than the last. This one had a thick beard that covered most of his face. He said not a word, instead placing a tray in front of him with some gray slop. Then he turned and left the room.
That became the daily routine. Sit alone, wait for food. Days, or maybe hours passed.
Until, however, the cycle was broken. Peter expected for it to be broken whenever he had been rescued, although that hadn’t happened yet. Instead, however, it was broken when another scientist lingered in the room after bringing the daily slop.
He had learned not to say anything after getting punched repeatedly. So now a scientist was lingering in his room, and Peter was scared to say anything. His spider sense was tingling, but it had been doing that a lot lately, so it was nothing new.
Peter eyed the scientist warily, never looking him in the eye. That was another lesson he had learned.
Tense minutes passed. The Scientist was staring at him now, so Peter had to stop his glances. A few more passed, Peter now staring at the floor getting steadily more uncomfortable. Finally, the Scientist spoke, but not in English.
“Пуак.” His voice was cold and rough. It made Peter feel weird. It was in Russian, he was pretty sure, from when Natasha and Bucky spoke it.
The Scientist said another word, and Peter’s gaze snapped immediately to the Scientist. He immediately looked away again, hoping he wouldn’t get hit. At his brief gaze, though, the Scientist seemed to be smiling. Peter could tell that the people behind the mirror were also happy. However, when Peter tried to listen to what they were saying, as he had been doing, a voice filled his ears. Don’t listen to them, it whispered. They are your superiors.
The Scientist spoke another word. The voice grew stronger. It started to drone, repeating superiors, superiors, superiors.
Another word. He glanced at the Scientist again, and found himself unable to look away. Look at them. Superiors. Listen to them. Superiors.
Another word. The voice was louder now. Peter stood up, as straight backed as the chair would let him.
Another word, and his spider sense halted for the first time.
Another word. Superiors, Spider. Listen. Look.
Another word, and the trance was broken. Peter blinked, spider sense returning to him. The voices behind the mirror became clear again.
“He snapped out of it.”
“That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”
“I’m not impressed.”
“It was only the first time, General!”
“We can improve, I swear.”
“Three days. Project Пуак must be perfect.”
“We won’t let you down.”
Peter was looking at the Scientist while this conversation was happening. Well, glancing at his feet, as eye contact was still a no go. But even then, he could feel the frown on his lips.
It made him feel weird. As much as Peter disliked the Scientists, he felt a weird need to do whatever they wanted. Whatever. No matter what it cost. No matter who had to be hurt. The fuck? He thought. These people hurt you. No matter what he tried to think, though, a little nag in his head always wanted to please the Su-Scientists.
For the next two days, this was the new routine. He would be woken up by someone bringing him food, would be told some Russian words snapping him into some sort of stupor, and then get snapped out of it, and finally get drugged until he fell asleep only to be woken up with food.
It was a stranger routine than the last one, but the strangest part of all was that every time he snapped out of his stupor, more and more of him realized Hydra was right. Every time he slept, his dreams that were once filled with May and Mr. Stark now had words whispering Hail Hydra over and over.
He woke up one day? Night? Week? Time had come and gone, and Peter was unsure of how many days he had been in this cold, bright room. The Scientist brought in his food as usual, and what he could still make out from the mirror, despite his head screaming to not listen, the General was back.
The Scientist strapped him to the bed, and sat in the chair, as was usual. He didn’t have any strength to fight, with his muscles being weak from unuse.
Sitting in the chair, the Scientist spoke. The words were his least favorite part. Peter braved himself.
One word. The uneasy feeling. An awful feeling of don’t screw up.
Two words. His gaze snapped to the Scientist, Peter not even trying to fight. The soft, syrupy voice crawling in his head beginning the drone of superior. Superior.
Three words. He stood up, muscles working against him. Stand straight. Never mind the screaming of your muscles.
Four words. Spider found himself slipping into ease. Peter was always hard to control. He was difficult. By the fourth word, though, Spider was happy. These were his superiors. He was safe.
Fifth word. Spider was now fully in control. Peter was buried, as he was supposed to be. But who was Peter, again?
Final word. Listen. Superiors. Spider.
He felt his face go slack, and relaxed against the cuffs. “Spider ready to comply.”